


i never got a reaction (a reaction) from you

by ampere



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:48:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ampere/pseuds/ampere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete is a boy Patrick meets one night, who turns out to be a skater that passes his house every night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i never got a reaction (a reaction) from you

**Author's Note:**

> Well I said I was going to write a peterick (promised it to like two people ha) so here it is. I uh...I've written a lot of fic for them but never really posted one and I feel like Fall Out Boy fic has a different feel to it, so like if it sounds odd then well that's what it is man also hurray for obviously placed lyrics snort
> 
> Title from Acres of Lions' Reaction

Patrick doesn't wear a lot of blue that isn't his denim jacket. He prefers the dark reds and maroons, earthy colors that contrast sharp over his skin.

He's flailing around in his dim room, the alarm clock blurring _6:45 am_ , he's got a toothbrush in his mouth and his jeans up to his knees. He waddles over to his closet, nearly swallows his toothbrush when he stubs his toe and his knees buckle over the pain of it all.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his mouth tastes minty fresh and his eyes blur a little at the pain.

He spits into the wastebasket in the corner of his room and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose before he gets a good look at the rumpled clothes he has left to put on. There really isn't anything that isn't crumpled up into a ball or smells disgusting.

Patrick sighs, pushes the empty coat hangers out of the way, watches them clack together and huffs when he sees nothing promising to wear. He's about to quit, figures that if he just sprays a lot of cologne on the shirt he wore yesterday he can pull that off, but his eyes catch a flash of blue on the top shelf and he stands on his toes, hand groping for it blindly, fingers barely clutching it before he drags it down, looks at the soft blue of it, cornflower, bright in the dim room.

“Forgot about this,” he says to himself, remembers back to when his mom had given it to him before he had gone to the east coast, “well no time like today to wear it, I guess.”

-

The overpass is _extremely_ dark, Patrick stops at the edge of it before he decides to go on. He can't see anything but the light spilling at the other side and the far away houses at the end of it. He tells himself he's not afraid, grabs on tighter to his book bag and takes a deep breath.

“Hey,” it's an echo against his ears and he nearly shits himself, flails his arms around like he's been caught in a spiderweb. His palm collides with something warm and flesh feeling and he tries to press himself to the wall of the overpass before the voice talks again.

“Ouch, fuck man, watch where you're aiming those things,” there's a moment of silence and then the blue washed light of a cell phone, lighting up the boy who looks at Patrick like he's betrayed him beyond belief.

Patrick doesn't deem the moment safe enough for an answer, he's split between running away because this guy could be some sort of killer or actually hitting him again because, _yeah_ possible killer.

“Where are you going?” he asks and Patrick can hear the sound of wheels hitting the pavement and then running against the concrete.

 _Skater boys_ , Patrick thinks sourly, the town is overrun by them, never know when to stop, roll around in herds, Patrick is surprised this one is alone.

“Home,” he says, “finished my last shift.”

He hopes it gets interpreted as _I'm tired as fuck, leave me alone_.

“Cool,” the boy says, “I'm Pete, you wanna go to the downtown park with me?”

Pete's cell phone reads _10:22 pm_ and Patrick's been up since 6:30 am.

“Not really,” he says, his mind is telling him to get away, to just split and go home.

“Alright then,” Pete says, the light of his phone fades out and then the rolling of wheels gets faint, “see yah around,” he calls out and Patrick realizes that he's at the end of the overpass and he's still stuck in the middle of it.

-

Patrick is trying to sleep, some nights later, when Pete is almost a distant thought, when he hears the wheels going. His clock says it's a bit after midnight and he frowns at the shadows over the ceiling before he gets up and sticks his head out into the night. The orange glow of the streetlights washes over the road and he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms when he sees a pack of skater boys rolling up the street. It takes him a moment to recognize the one at the end, trailing just a bit as a lanky boy looks down at him, hair curling over his ears and sunglasses up his nose.

Pete says something and then looks up before Patrick gets a chance to duck back inside, he smiles and waves and the boy in front of him turns around again and motions for him to hurry up.

Pete gives him a thumbs up, throws one last smile at Patrick and catches up to the skinny _skinny_ boy.

-

It seems like Patrick's street is essential for the herd of skating boys to get to their park. Patrick usually doesn't go to sleep until he hears the rolling of the wheels, the calls of _hey brendon!_ and _watch where you're going joe_! the occasional _that's where pete's boy lives_  usually followed by  _shut the fuck up ryan._

He doesn't stick his head out when he gets talked about, and he tries not to go too red in the face. They haven't really talked since Pete gave him that heart attack under the dark overpass and Patrick was too scared to be nice to him, the other boy doesn't even know his name, and he purposely takes the long way home so he doesn't run into Pete under the overpass.

He wakes up and he goes to work and he remembers to do his laundry and he keeps stubbing his toe and just ignores Pete.

It doesn't mean he doesn't look at Pete when he passes over the streetlight right outside his house. How he sees all the tattoos up his arms and peeking over the collar of his shirt, how his hair is short and flat against his head when there's sweat over his forehead and how his shoes look worn down and caked in dirt. It doesn't mean that he doesn't catch the way his brown eyes glint under the lights, or how he always smiles when Patrick gets the courage to stick his head out.

He has no idea how he's gone from half scared of Pete, trying not to cross an overpass to waiting all night until Pete and his crew rolls by his house.

Patrick figures it's just part of the skater boy thing Pete has going on.

-

There's something knocking against his window that makes him wake up. He blinks against the sleep still fighting with him and looks around dumbly until there's another small thump. He kicks his covers off and shuffles towards his window, nearly sticking his head against the glass before he remembers to slide it open, sticks his head out and gets woken up by the cold air of the night.

“Hey,” Pete says from under the windowsill, he has his skateboard propped over him and his group of boys standing at the end of the street, ears pricked up in interest, “you think you can come down for a bit?”

Patrick nods before he thinks about it too much, goes back into his room and looks at the clock. It reads _3:19 am_ , which Patrick takes to mean that Pete and his crew are coming back from the park after a night of skating and tricks Patrick has no idea how to pull.

He puts on a pull over he finds crumpled on the floor and hopes it doesn't smell too much.

-

Pete is waiting under the streetlight when he finally gets down, thumb pushing into his bottom lip and eyes looking at his shoes.

“Hello,” Patrick says slowly, stops a couple of steps away from Pete and bites the inside of his cheek, “you wanted me to come down?”

Pete nods, looks at the boys trying to look like they don't really care what's going between them and then looks at Patrick, “yeah...I just wanted to ask, if maybe next time, you'll take my offer to go to the park, you can ride on my skateboard, hold on to me as tight as you like.”

Patrick catches the little gleam of a grin and he raises an eyebrow at the other boy, eyes flicking to his arm tattoos, “You barely know me.”

It's the sad truth, besides knowing his name and knowing that Pete is a tattooed skater with no concept of day and night, he knows nothing else.

“I know you live here, I know you work late shifts, I know you always wait for me to pass, I know that you look _so_ good in blue.”

“Is that all?” Patrick asks, can't decide if he's embarrassed enough at being caught to crawl back home or about how Pete remembers the blue shirt he wore when they met.

“I know you want to say yes,” Pete says, slow and careful like he's not so sure if Patrick can take that kind of talk.

Patrick looks at Pete then, looks at his grin slipping into a shy smile, the way his fingers grip too tight at the end of his board. He nods and Pete looks relieved and content, newly confident.

He darts forward too quick, startles Patrick a bit and ends up smashing a kiss against the bridge of Patrick's nose.

It hurts, leaves a dull pain but Patrick doesn't mind as much as the fact that Pete tried to kiss him. He watches as he pulls back, eyes flickering to the boys again before looking back at Patrick.

“Can I know your name now?” Pete asks

“It's Patrick,” he says.

“Good to know,” Pete smiles, drops his board and gives Patrick at mock salute, “same time tomorrow, right?”

He skates off before Patrick can give him a proper answer but he knows Pete knows what his answer would had been anyway.

He goes back to his apartment, can hear the faint roar of laughter coming from Pete's direction, teasing and jabs and tries to remember if his blue shirt is clean.


End file.
